


Tales of Futures Long Since Past

by leinthalexandra



Series: Children of Erebor [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Precognition, Sibling Love, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 04:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leinthalexandra/pseuds/leinthalexandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sons and daughter of Thráin do their best to make a home in foreign halls. But Dís cannot escape the dark dreams that still follow in the wake of Erebor's fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of Futures Long Since Past

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this lovely artwork on Tumblr](http://kannibal.tumblr.com/post/45192264225/heirs-of-the-deathless-only-dis-could), written for [Keio](http://kannibal.tumblr.com).

It was nights like this when Dís felt a certain kind of restlessness settle itself deep within her bones. When the very walls of stone, the mountain itself seemed to hum and sing and only  _she_  could hear its voice. On nights like these she would walk as though in a dream, trailing her fingertips along to feel the cool, smooth stone against her skin. How long she wandered, Dís couldn’t say, but her feet always led her back home.

Home—the one place that always put her at ease, even when her childhood nightmares would wake her from the sound of her own screams. Home was not with her parents, though she loved them dearly. Home was not Erebor, not any longer. Home was where her brothers were—home was with Thorin and Frerin, because Dís could not feel complete without them.

The chambers the three of them shared were smaller than the ones they’d had in Erebor, but they were adequate and comfortable enough. It wasn’t unusual for siblings to take rooms together, and the princes and princess of Erebor were no exception. But those titles were meaningless now in the unfamiliar halls of Nain’s kingdom in the Iron Hills. They were only here for a short time during the winter months before they moved on, but the king, and their parents, had remained silent on that matter.

She opened the door and a wave of warmth washed over her, a fire burning brightly in the common room, her brothers settled in their chairs by the hearth. Both of them were already in their nightshirts and loose trousers to protect against the winter chill. Frerin’s glasses had fallen almost down the bridge of his nose, his head tipped back and lolling over to the side. Thorin sat next to him in his own armchair, reading a large volume with an embossed design of what she thought were Dwarves fighting against a horde of goblins. How he had managed to find one so similar to those they’d had as children, Dís didn’t know, but likely it had been somewhere in the markets here. It must have taken him ages to find.

Dís entered her bedchamber, shutting the door behind her before she began to undress. She let her long cloak fall to the floor at her feet, undid her belt and it hit the ground with a soft  _thunk._  Undoing the laces of her stays, she sighed with relief and pulled them off, tossing them into her wardrobe. Finally, Dís pulled the gown over her head. She knew she ought to be glad, her mother had told her, that the folk of the Iron Hills had given them so much, and she shouldn’t be so ungrateful.

Even so, she much preferred her tunic that tied over at each side, the trousers that made it easier to move and to fight, the soft leather boots that her mother never let her wear with her dresses. Dresses and gowns and the like were impractical when working in a forge or practicing to fight—another thing her mother disapproved of her daughter doing. Not proper for a princess, but Dís wasn’t a princess anymore. The skills that her brothers had learned with a sword or an anvil were vital for Dís to know as well if she was to contribute to their peoples’ survival.

She was dressed only in her chemise now, and Dís clutched the ends of the long sleeves in her hands as she stretched her arms out to each side. Then, rummaging through her wardrobe, she pulled out her long robe, the one Frerin had bought her a few weeks ago, with the fur linings.

When she returned to the common room Thorin didn’t even look up, and Dís could hear Frerin’s soft snores from his chair. It didn’t matter to her, though—she merely sat herself down in front of Frerin and tapped his leg to wake him up. “Wh’t?” he said, raising his head and looking around. “Oh, Dís  I didn’t see you there…”

“That’s because you were about half-asleep just then,” said Thorin without glancing up. “I’m amazed you even noticed at all.”

Before Frerin could throw back another retort, Dís tugged at his sleeve to get his attention again. “Braid my hair?” she asked, turning over her shoulder. Frerin was the only one, aside from herself (and occasionally Thorin), who she allowed to do so, and even their mother had given up trying to reason with her daughter’s “Mahal-cursed stubbornness.”

Frerin nodded and pushed at her shoulders until she was sitting with her back against the chair. She leaned back, resting her arms over his thighs, as he ran his fingers through her hair, combing out the tangles. Dís sighed and nearly let her head drop over against the arm rest, but she kept herself upright.

“Thorin, why don’t you read one of those stories for us?” Frerin asked, and Dís could hear the grin in his tone. She and Frerin both loved to hear their brother read out the ancient tales in his strong, deep voice, the way he’d done even when the three of them were children.

Thorin smiled a little. “All right. Anything strike your fancy?” With a knowing look at Dís, he added, “I’m sure I already know what you want to hear, little sister.” Dis smiled at him; her love for stories of the ancient halls of Durin in Moria was no secret, especially to her brothers. She’d constantly harangued them, and their tutors, during their lessons about Durin the Deathless, of the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm.

(She thirsted for knowledge of the kingdom of Moria, determined that one day her people might take it back, and to learn was to understand one’s enemy. Dís might not have been a warrior in her father’s eyes, but her brothers said she had the heart of one.)

“Let her have her choice,” Frerin said. He tugged a little at Dís’ hair as he worked, his fingers twisting and twining her dark locks into numerous, yet simple braids. Dís pulled her knees up, resting her arms over them to toy with the hem of her robe. Thorin turned to the middle of the book he’d been reading and cleared his throat before he began.

_“n the Second Age of the world, the realm of Khazad-dûm was made prosperous and thrived for the first time in a number of long years. Durin’s Folk were joined by the Dwarves from Ered Luin after the fall of Tumunzahar and Gabilgathol. They even founded a friendship with the Elves of Eregion, and it is said that their ruler, Celebrimbor himself, helped to form the Western Gate of Khazad-dûm, and was fast friends with the Dwarf King, Durin the Third._

_"But the peace was not to last, and Sauron sent his forces to attack and destroy the Elves of Eregion; Durin the Third and his folk lent aid to their allies, though it was a grievous loss for all._ _Then came word that the sacred kingdom of Durin under Mount Gundabad had been ravaged by Orcs and others of their foul ilk. Durin’s own beloved wife, Queen Reginleif, offered to lead a legion of their army to aid their kin in the north. Durin was torn, for he loved his wife more than all the mithril, gold, and jewels of his kingdom combined._

_"And it was only after much sorrow and grief that King Durin agreed to let his beloved wife go, and they both wept at their parting, for they were certain that they would only next meet again in the halls of Aulë. The queen had been given a gift from Mahal, the gift to see what might lie ahead, and she knew it in her heart. And so it was that Reginleif took up her sword and shield, then bid her beloved farewell before she marched north with her army towards Mount Gundabad."_

Dís could almost see the proud queen, resplendent in her mithril armor, marching her women across the plains. She could see the great king and his queen as they bid goodbye for what they both believed would be the last time. The thought of having to do such a thing—Dís had no husband, had no interest in taking one, but her heart grew heavy and her stomach twisted at the thought of never seeing either of her brothers again.

_“It was a long hard journey, filled with a great number of skirmishes that threatened the army’s advance. Queen Reginleif and her small contingent of dwarrow-women, the Shieldmaidens of Khazad-dûm  were relentless in their march; the drumbeats of war ever beating as they battled their way through goblins and wargs and orcs even before they came within a hundred leagues of the sacred mountain, where Durin the Deathless had woken thousands of years before."_

She knew what came next, knew how this story ended, but every time she hoped that it might change. Dís crossed her arms over Frerin’s thigh, laying her head on them; her hair falls to one side over her shoulder. He ran his hand through her hair, brushing a stray lock back behind her ear.

_"But when Reginleif and her dwarrow-women returned to Khazad-dûm with weary feet and heavy hearts—for Gundabad, their sacred home, had been overrun, and even their forces could not help to turn the tide—they were greeted with an even greater sorrow. They found their people far from the halls of Khazad-dûm  and it was with tears in their eyes that they told the warriors how Reginleif’s beloved husband, the king, had been slain._

_"A creature of shadow and flame, an Abomination of Morgoth, had risen from deep within the mountain, far beneath their halls. King Durin held it off until his people had escaped; though he found bravely, he was unable to stand against this terrible foe. But several of the Dwarves remained and looked back only to see their king slain where he stood. When Queen Reginleif heard of this, she fell to her knees and tore at her beard in grief. In spite of her fore-knowledge the queen had hoped it to be wrong, but she knew Mahal would not have bestowed this upon her lightly. And all around her, her sisters-in-arms wailed and sang in mourning for their king…and their queen."_

—

That night she dreamed again.

The clash of sword upon shield upon sword filled her ears;  _it wasn’t Erebor, it wasn’t_   _ **home**_ —a mountain vast and grey. looming above her… She tried to reach out but Dís may as well have been a ghost…Frerin, his armor, his golden hair gleaming in the sunlight… _her hand couldn’t touch, couldn’t warn him_ —screams everywhere, the sound of the dying—

Mist swirled around her; a giant orc, pale and scarred—the roar of her kinsmen as they charged the vast and yawning gate— _but how did she know where were her brothers she wanted to scream she couldn’t cry out—_ and a spear, an axe, a blade—and she screamed herself till her throat was raw and no no  _no nono not him not—can’t—_

  
  
When she woke, Dís only stared at the ceiling and tried to move her limbs, but her body refused to listen to her. The images from her dream still raced through her mind, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, her breathing shallow and and ragged. She tried in vain to get up, over and over…

And then she gasped as her arms, then her legs, finally moved. Dís sat up and looked around, noticing that she wasn’t in her own room. Next to her she heard a loud snore; Dís almost laughed when she looked over and saw Frerin half-sprawled on top of Thorin, his golden hair covering Thorin’s face. She covered her mouth at the last moment so as not to wake them.

She climbed out of bed carefully, picking up the blanket draped over the chest at the end of the bed before she went into the common room. The fire in the hearth had died down low as Dís settled herself into an armchair next to it and wrapping herself in the blanket. Even though she closed her eyes, she couldn’t erase the lingering thoughts from her nightmare. And it was just a nightmare, Dís tried to tell herself, just some strange muddle her mind had mixed up after that story.  _Never let Thorin read tales like that before bed anymore_ , she thought to herself.

Even so, Dís didn’t go back to sleep for the rest of the night. She simply curled up in her chair and and watched the shadows play upon the wall until the break of dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...somehow seer!Dís ended up happening. Don't ask me how that came about because I have no idea.
> 
> As an aside, [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ly6dttehZT1qfhdw7o1_500.jpg) is what I see Reginleif looking like.


End file.
